Bye and bye the sun came out – just in time to bid us goodnight, and as I told you sometime, the moon is shining now.
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She looks like a fairy tonight, sailing around the sky in a little silver gondola with stars for gondoliers. I asked her to let me ride a little while ago – and told her I would get out when she got as far as Baltimore, but she only smiled to herself and went sailing on.
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and you and I would try to make a little destiny to have for our own.
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dear Susie, who please ourselves with the fancy that we are the only poets – and every one else is prose,
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we are the only poets – and every one else is prose,
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– I should be constrained to write – for what shall separate us from any whom we love
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Oh Susie, time would fail me to enumerate my appearance, yet I love you just as dearly as if I was e’er so fine,
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Oh my darling one, how long you wander from me, how weary I grow of waiting and looking, and calling for you; sometimes I shut my eyes, and shut my heart towards you, and try hard to forget you because you grieve me so,
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Only want to write me, only sometimes sigh that you are far from me, and that will do, Susie!
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In 1915, Susan’s daughter Martha Dickinson Bianchi described her Aunt Emily in the Atlantic Monthly, saying: “Her devotion to those she loved was that of a knight for his lady.”